


what a lovely way to burn

by CenterAxisRelock



Category: Splinter Cell (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CenterAxisRelock/pseuds/CenterAxisRelock
Summary: Snippets of a volatile relationship between two very lonely people in a terribly ruthless business. Set directly after Splinter Cell: Blacklist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was beyond surprised that no practically no fics exist about this ship, at least not in the non-platonic sense. I loved their dynamic in Blacklist so much that I just had to write something about these two.

Saving the world is a lonely and a thankless job, though the excitement does make up for it.

After getting everyone patched up and put back together on the Paladin, more or less, the Fourth Echelon team found themselves with enough adrenaline to blow a hole in the wall of the airship. They just saved the country and the stability of international relations that hinged on the most powerful country in the world not getting into a bloodbath with pretty much everyone else. Yet, while people who had very little to no role in achieving this were celebrating, openly or less openly, all across the USA (apparently someone actually broke out a Captain America costume in the Times Square a la the killing of Bin Laden), the ones who actually made a difference in this conflict were solemn and thoughtful. The nature of their job was to keep quiet, no matter of their incredible accomplishments. And while they all realized that, there was thick tension brewing in the team. Figures, you put people who have just beaten certain death in a metal cage and they get a bit grumpy.

So, in their well deserved (not to mention, ordered) break, they had no-one but each other and quite a bit of down time. So they did what any group of colleagues would do – the team hit the bar to enjoy the mutual relief; considering they won't be receiving medals for saving the country, they sure as hell deserved a few stiff ones. Three hours into their little field trip, when Charlie was borderline passed out and Briggs was talking to a pretty college student who was hanging on his every word, Grim approached Fisher out of sheer curiosity and quite a bit of single malt in her system.

She doesn't recall how they connected that night, not that it matters now, anyway. He was drinking by himself, killing a bottle of whiskey at the end of the bar, and the rest of team seemed almost scared to approach him. She wasn't sentimental, at least forced herself not to be, but it seemed almost sad to see the man sulking alone while in reality the free world should be carrying him on their arms. He was drinking in a tempo that would impress Oliver Reed, but apart from his hazy unfocused gaze, nothing betrayed it.

Grim walked up and made a appreciative gaze towards his bottle of Jack Daniels. Very American, as expected. Of course, nothing slipped by Sam. He actually made a mimic of a smile towards her. She had expected him to tell her to piss off.

"Should I help you kill it?" Grim asked, straight to the point just like he liked.  
"Sure." She now realized he was very slightly slurring his words. "You're good at helping me kill things"  
Wait, is that a compliment? "That's...fucked up, Sam." And she let out a chuckle. Only they could laugh about stuff like this.

An hour later the bottle was dead, so were the numerous shot glasses, stained with the remnants of whiskey, scattered around their table. They hadn't mentioned work at all. He laughed at some stupid remark she made, a sound that surprised her just as much as him.

For once they felt like two strangers in the bar, no past, no finished and unfinished business. And in that moment, it didn't matter that eventually the POTUS will demand an in-depth live debrief, that their teammate had killed a standing SecDef, that Sadiq was rotting in Gitmo, that nobody will ever know what they've done and that in a month, maybe some weeks down the line he will put his life in her hands while walking into a hornets nest again. Fuck it all.

They both shared drinks, one after the other and their conversation topics veered further and further away from what they were usually comfortable with . It was near Christmas and they felt like the loneliest people on the planet. They knew they were nearing a dangerous territory, but maybe people who can't afford to make mistakes professionally tend to compensate for it in their personal lives.

When Sam kissed her that night, after they had shared a cigarette outside, he kissed her with ferocious desperation. Grim responded likewise. It was a thunderstorm, bad history and their stubborn natures crashing together. He gripped her tight, enough to make her acknowledge that he could kill her with his bare hands if he wanted to, but she still felt in charge, and she fucking loved that. Ironically, the two people who would never let their professionalism crack, let it happen with each other.

They ended up stumbling on a hotel room. It was a mess, but what a mess it was. A man who relied on such cold calculation and pragmatic brutality in his daily life, completely switching to his primal instincts and momentary whims was probably one of the most erotic things she'd ever seen.

He was rough, no surprise. He took what he wanted, but what he gave her in bruises, she gave back in scratches and bites. Despite Sam's stone cold demeanor, he was still human enough to yearn for the affirmation he's still alive, for the primal human contact anyone longs for after staring down death. Grim took him in her hand, long, thick and pulsating, and felt him swear in her ear, all over her neck, his mouth wet and his jaw rough with a week's worth of beard. He was hard and borderline unhinged, and she let him whisper in her ear, how wet she is, what he's gonna do to her, silent but determined, gruff but clear, not so different from the way he talked to the unlucky bastards that managed to get themselves in his chokehold. The thought left Grim's mind when his finger entered her, calloused but flexible. Touched thousands of triggers, he had perfect control on her. He was winding her up with the utmost precision.

They fucked hard, with no inhibitions, and while it could've been too much for any other woman, one who lead a different life, Grim enjoyed wrestling away the reins now and then. She tangled her fingers in Sam's salt and pepper hair while he went to work between her legs, him pleasing her with the same ferocious intensity he employed in his professional life, held him there as if she had the power to kill him right then, whispering filth between moans…He growled, like someone who just can't get satiated enough and it elicited a dark chuckle from her. She got on top of him and either Sam enjoyed giving up control as much as he enjoyed having it, or he was too turned on to do anything about it.

They ceased to think as coherent individuals and disappeared into primal instincts, rough touches, bites and desire.  
It was like that drink that sets you over the line, you know it's not gonna end pleasantly, yet you can't help but intoxicate yourself further, like you've earned the right to let go and fuck whoever thinks differently. And when she came yet again and again, biting down on his shoulder, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream, as if he didn't already know just how good he was, she grew more and more confident that the world owed her a chance to let go.

They didn't slow down much that night, but when they did, Sam looked at her body in a way a man would look at a cold beer on a hot summer's day. Grim couldn't help but admire him herself – he was built to kill, lean but solidly thick, with plenty of scars to document his work. The next time they stopped, they didn't stop until the dawn broke through the curtains, collapsing in exhaustion. And, despite all the things they did to each other that night, at the very end they regressed into their reserved selves - Sam dragged his hand across her body one last time, fell back on his side of the bed and was out in seconds. Grim, barely able to move, took one last look at his rhythmic breathing and joined him.

They avoided looking at each other the next morning. If anything happened while they were sobered up, they wouldn't be able to write their escapade off on drunken foolish decisions. He left before her, both sharing a moment of silent agreement that after leaving the hotel, nothing like this will ever happen again.


	2. Chapter 2

For the next three weeks post-Blacklist, everything was relatively fine with the world. Apart from the typical body counts in the Middle East, cynically written off as part of reality instead of an urgent problem, the world had no need for Fourth Echelon for a while. CIA and Vic were doing well with gathering intel on the Blacklist. The information that Sadiq gave them via interrogation was especially necessary to avoid or at least preempt any future Blacklist type attacks. The biggest worry for Grimsdottir was not to fall asleep during the meetings that mostly consisted of boring ramblings by desk jockeys whose most serious life or death decision was whether to add milk to their morning coffee. What once seemed incredibly exciting to a college-age, wide-eyed idealist, was mind-numbingly dull to someone who's had the fate of the free world resting in her hands several times over. Everyone, involving the CIA, NSA and the POTUS wanted to know everything there was to know about the Blacklist and further development of the Fourth Echelon program. The team kept the best parts to themselves, of course. Otherwise POTUS would shut them down faster than you can say „direct disobedience of presidential orders".

Truth to be told, as horrific as the Blacklist attacks were, Grim actually missed that time. Split second choices, race against the time, insurmountable stakes. Being a part of a team constisting of solely the best professionals in their line of work, hopped up on adrenaline and blacker than black coffee, on the hunt for a mad man. She wondered that perhaps the rampant workaholism in this business was so prevalent not because of the responsible nature of the work, but because no other feeling could ever mimic it.

Sam attended most of the meetings as the de facto leader, of course. For the most part, he communicated in indifferent grunts and short sentences that made whoever was talking to him feel like an idiot. Sam was obviously bored – he hadn't been in the field ever since American Dust was averted. Rumor had it he spent a lot of times on the range and with the bottle. Wild animals get restless while locked in the cage of a civilized life. For the most part, they didn't even acknowledge each other, let alone speak. That didn't do their personal relationship any favours, especially considering how rocky it was before. Grim wrote their escapade off as a momentary weakness of character, celebratory spirit, fueled by copious amounts of alcohol, and the desire to just selfishly let go and feel something good after sacrificing so much fighting for strangers who will never thank them. Though as time went on, they knew they'd have to bring up that night sooner or later in order to work together.

„Maybe in five years we'll be able to maintain eye contact." Grim thought. She barely looked at him, but she managed to notice that for a man who apparently felt at unease in suits, he managed to pick very well fitting ones. She did notice that Sam looked at her a lot more than she looked at him. It seemed like he knew she was going to be the one who chickens out of making eye contact, and that pissed her off to no end.

They both thought about that night, of course. Hazy but vivid memories, usually recalled on a whim and quickly shelved away, just like what they do in places like Iran or Gitmo, it remained only a memory left exclusively to the minds of people who were there, a case to be buried.

Until, during a meeting in Langley, at a point when Grim internally begged for another international conflict to start, a familiar hand snaked up her leg.

She nearly jumped out of her chair. The entire room, except for one person, quizically looked at her.

„Sorry. Thought I missed something important. Nevermind."

The rest of the room resumed the discussion on the upkeep costs of the Paladin and she used the chance to glare daggers at the man sitting next to her.

Sam, however, kept his gaze on the participants of the discussion, as focused as ever. He might as well have been studying compound blueprints. His hand though, seemingly unstoppable, was ever so slightly stroking her leg, slowly moving upwards.

Grim whispered a barely audible insult while he cleared his throat.

His fingers disappeared under the hem of her skirt, far enough for it not to be completely obvious while close enough to light a fire under her. When she was contemplating grabbing his hand and either breaking it or guiding it closer, the meeting was adjourned – apparently Company men had joined her in the appraisal that the meeting has long since gotten useless. Sam withdrew his hand with the utmost seriousness on his face. She left the room for the garage and felt him coming in behind her, about 15 feet away, never moving closer but never pulling away.

She stopped in her tracks next to his car.

Their eyes locked and Sam was looking at her without a hint of apology, more like a dare to make her do something. Sam expected her to slap him, or at least ask him what the fuck does he think he's doing. He didn't expect her to reach up, tangle her fingers in his greying hair and kiss him, hard. She could've sworn she tasted a hint of alcohol in his mouth and registered his cologne, which just spurred her on.

In took about five tries for them to get inside the car. In spite of them trying to devour each other, he managed to slam the door close and lift her on top of him. That low cut blouse had been bothering him all day.

Some buttons flew off the blouse and he buired his face in her breasts. He alternated between sloppy kisses and hard bites while she returned fire by pulling his hair as hard as she could.

„Fuck, you smell good." He was on the verge of losing his mind.

„Shut up…" She let her desperate tone slip despite her best intentions. „Get on with it…"

„Anna…"

She rode him, desperate and frantic, while he pulled her down strongly enough for it to leave bruises. The fact that someone could easily walk past the car and see the highest ranking Fourth Echelon operators going at it like crazy only fueled their fire. At this point, anything short of a terrorist attack wouldn't be enough to stop them. The sheer physical need and the wish to repeat what should have never happened again was too strong. Once again their professional exteriors fizzled away. It seemed like each other's presence was a way to jolt themselves back from the dull reigns of civilian life.

Sam was just as uncontrollable as she was, if not more, and that gave her immense amount of satisfaction to see his blood run hot in contrast to his usual detached and cold nature.

She bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood to stop her from crying out when she came. Seconds later she felt him shudder and whisper obscenities as he joined her.

Grim collapsed into her colleague, both regaining their breaths. After registering that they're both still in Langley's parking lot, Grim got off him, slumping into the other seat while Sam quickly readjusted himself and loosened his tie, still trying to still his breathing.

She picked up her panties from the floor, finding a strand of black fabric instead, and a realization dawned that half of her blouse buttons were on the floor as well. She now realized this was only the second time they've had sex but she was already picking up Sam's habits, like his utter disregard for the fabric of whatever overpriced clothing she was wearing.

„Sorry." Sam growled, looking straight ahead.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of one of the most dangerous men on the planet acting like a high schooler.

„Just clothes."

He took off his jacket, careful not to touch her, which was quite absurd considering what transpired there before, and handed it to her, still looking away. „Take it."

She considered the idea of walking back to her car with her blouse open to her navel and shrugged the jacket on.

A few seconds passed. Sam was slowly tapping his trigger finger against the door handle. She noticed that the windows were covered with a thin layer of condensation. Grim felt like it would be childish to walk away this time without saying a word.

„What, do you need to talk about this?" She adopted a mocking tone on purpose.

Sam instantly felt she was teasing rather than serious. That's good. That's easy. Exchanging banter. He snapped his head towards her. Eyes briefly drifting towards the point where her blouse came apart, he locked eyes with Grim and that made her shudder almost as much as when he touched her.

„No. Do you?" His tone was back to that of a stern commander.

„Nope." Slight pause. They were entering comfortable grounds.

„Uh, I'm probably heading the same way..."

Grim smiled for the first time that day, if only slightly. „Sam, I know it was pretty good, but I'm still ready to drive."

He rewarded that with a chuckle.

She exited the car. The fabric of her underwear was still lying on the seat. Grim felt him watch her walk to her car before driving away.


	3. Chapter 3

He was at her door, soaking wet due to the thunderstorm, holding a bottle of Jack and sporting a wounded hero's gaze. There's no way she could ever turn him away, though she did pretend to ponder whether to let him in. She watched in silence as he walked inside and passed her, his right arm bent in a protective position over his rib region, as if he was protecting it against other objects. He was injured, not seriously, but enough to make him betray discomfort.

24 hours before this, they were on a mission. It all went smooth like butter, until Sam insisted to change their plan and stay in the area well over their planned time period to eliminate a high value target who supposedly should've arrived in the area due to some intel Sam had haphazardly picked up. The HVT was a bad son of a bitch, famous for capturing foreign journalists and executing them in front of the camera. So Sam, naturally, wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Long story short, Sam overstayed his welcome and considering that they didn't have sufficient intel on the arriving patrols, he ended up captured by the extremists. To add insult to injury, the target was nowhere to be seen. Naturally, they wanted to know what was up with an American, decked out in state of the art operations gear, creeping around their little clubhouse. When they found about a dozen of their dead friends littered across the base, decorated with deep karambit wounds in all the right places, they were even more eager to chat with Sam.

Thankfully, these guys had a serious lack of imagination and their idea of torture wasn't exactly elaborate – Sam was restrained and used as a punching bag, in between yelling sessions in Arabic. Sam responded only in silence and a few insults in the same language. Naturally, Briggs and a handful of operators were dispatched to Sam's aide. Grim made a point of insisting the use of lethal force. She didn't let it show, but she was nervous. The idiots didn't take out Sam's subdermal radio and she could hear well enough the punches connecting against his body. With every second she was more and more seething, partially at Sam for taking an idiotic risk by diverting from the plan. Grim decided that if the worst happens she'd drone the damn place herself. She had the utmost trust in Sam and knew that he had been in stickier situations, but that didn't lessen the cold pit in her stomach.

Interestingly enough, Sam's patience ran out faster than his cavalry managed to arrive. After a good half an hour of trying and waiting for the right opportunity, the weak spot in Sam's chair finally gave in. The sharper bits of the same chair ended up in his most eager torturer's throat. Sam pulled out the pistol tucked behind the man's waist band and made quick work of the room. Only a few minutes later before Sam had decided how to exit the building, Briggs and team busted in. At least Sam was in one piece – of course, said piece was red, black and blue with bruised ribs, but alas, in one piece. Grim was angry at him for making a decision that almost cost him his life. No yelling was involved, but her gaze at him made him wince more than the bruises and lacerations his torturers gave him. The doctors on board patched him up as best as they could, reminded him to severely limit any physical activities, lest he would tear any stitches – a warning Sam would _surely_ heed – and the crew touched down back in DC.

But now, here he was at her apartment, acting almost like at home to her chagrin, despite having been there only once. Her apartment was elegant but somewhat empty, something that screamed „I sleep here for maybe 8 nights per month". Sam headed to her living room, leaving rainy footprints. He took off his jacket, visibly wincing, and sat down on her sofa, arms outstretched. It was quite obvious what he was here for. And truth to be told, Grim wanted it as well, more than she dared to admit. She couldn't stop recalling how his hands felt on her skin. She thought about her way his beard scratched so deliciously over her body while he was teasing her. She wanted to feel his voice in her ear, not the usual professional one, but the dark tone with filthy intent he reserved for her.

Grim wanted to ask him the million dollar question „what are we doing?". This had transitioned from a drunken one night stand to several repeated diversions. Instead she asked him the easier one: „What are you doing here?"

He let off a bitter smile. „You usually ask that only _after_ letting a man inside your house?" She glared at him, unamused. He looked at her, eyes somewhat unfocused. „I had a few drinks. Didn't want to go home, figured I'd stop by. Bottle's for you." He nodded towards the Jack Daniels on the table.

„Thanks for the gift. But what makes you think I'm in the mood for talking right now?"

„If I wanted to talk, I'd have stayed at the bar." Sam decided to skip the pleasantries.

„You know, whatever else you're looking for, you could've found there as well."

„Are you asking me to leave?" Sam leaned forward, confident, an imposing presence that made the sofa he was sitting on smaller than it was.

„You're in any shape for what you're offering?" Grim tried to peck at his confidence. But he was unwavering.

„Why don't you come here and find out?" There it was, the tone she missed.

Grim didn't blink. „Take your shirt off." Sam smirked and obliged, though not managing to hide his wincing as the disappearance of his shirt revealed what mess they had made of their last mission.

She looked him up and down. He had leaned back and spread his arms across the couch, as if he was taking pride of his injuries. „One thing." Grim said. „I'm in charge." Sam blinked, staying silent, in agreement.

She walked up to him, making sure to take her time, and straddled him. His body was covered in black and blue bruises, bandaged in some areas. Grim lightly trailed her fingers over his collarbone, through the coarse dark hair that covered his chest, stopping at his right side ribs that sported a particularly nasty gash that had a bandage over it with had a dark red spot. She trailed her fingers over it and felt Sam's otherwise solid breathing hitch, but he said nothing. She put slight pressure on the area. Sam drew in a sharper breath than usual but didn't take his eyes off her and waited. She pressed harder. Sam made a silent grunt but his hands were still stretched across the sofa. Grim shifted her gaze from his torso to his eyes. They were dark with a mix of desire and challenge. He challenged her to take control, over him, over everything. His mouth was half open. Grim wanted to sink her teeth in his lower lip.

Instead she shifted her attention to another dark purple bruise on his abdomen. Grim quietly registered her appreciation for his sculpted body, but didn't give Sam the satisfaction. She pressed the purple bruise harder than she had the one growled louder but didn't move. Something dark unlocked in her. She pressed another fresh bruise on his ribs and Sam let off a sound that couldn't be mistaken for anything else than enjoyment. She suddenly registered the growing wetness between her legs. He enjoyed her controlling what he feels, being in charge of his body. She had never seen Sam willingly be controlled by anyone. Being in charge of the 4th Echelon was at the utmost importance for him. But now here he was, splayed over a sofa in front of her, clearly getting off at her touching him and causing him pain whenever, however she wanted. His thickly muscled body, which made her look tiny in comparison, fully in her control.

„Enjoying this?" Sam's low voice suddenly jolted her back to reality.

Grim raked her nails over a bruise on his side and enjoyed the sharp hitch of his breathing. She let her eyes trail way down to the obvious bulge in his pants and then back up to his face, letting off a smirk.

„I've barely touched you and you're already rock hard, who's enjoying this more?"

He didn't respond. Sam's green eyes, full of desire, drifted towards her mouth. It was as he was asking permission, though she didn't grant one to him, not yet. Instead, she moved her hand to his throat and let the fingers linger there. Sam said nothing but his gaze practically begged her to do something.

She lightly squeezed and his green eyes darkened with lust.

Grim finally trailed down her hand to his crotch and squeezed him. The man was borderline in pain. She finally took him out, long, thick and throbbing and ran a soft stroke over him. Sam's silent facade fell apart quickly and he started breathing heavily. She picked up the pace, not too fast, but enough so that he would feel warranted. A few droplets of sweat ran down his forehead. He smelled like whiskey, rain and an ever slight hint of cologne. It was intoxicating.

„Grim…" He whispered, barely audible. She wasn't going to let him get away with it. „Huh, Sam? You were saying?"

„Dont…please don't stop…"

Grim paused, of course. Wouldn't want to let him get off this easily. She took her hand off him, licked it and ran over his body. Sam groaned, possibly called her a bitch under his breath, but he was smart enough not to repeat it louder. After a minute Grim picked up the tempo and felt him throb hard under her touch. He was leaking all over her fingers. She fought the urge to run her tongue over him. All in due time.

„Grim..for fuck's sake, please…"

„You're gonna come all over my arm like a good boy?"

„I'll do whatever you want."

She started to stroke him faster, enjoying the way his muscles tightened, his breathing quickened, his eyes closed. He started to buck into her hand. But he was holding back from making a sound.

„I want to hear you, Sam."

He looked at her through half lidded and hazy eyes and exhaled through his nose. Grim stopped abruptly and squeezed him, once. He was slick, trying to move against her hand and she could feel his need for release. Sam tried his best to focus his gaze, looked at her with pleading eyes which then drifted down to her mouth and he leaned in to capture her lips with his, only to have her lean away. She lightly slapped him with her left hand.

„Did I tell you to do that?" She asked in a commanding tone, even though her heart was pounding and she felt herself becoming wetter by every second. Grim could feel him throb in her hand and if it was possible he'd have gotten even harder. So the big bad commander enjoys getting slapped around. Huh.

Sam licked his lips and silently groaned. Grim took a moment to enjoy having this newfound power and dragged her nail over his length, stroking a certain spot he had a particular weakness for. Now _that_ he reacted to, bucking sharply into her hand, letting out a gasp and mouthing various versions of „fuck". The bandages across his chest were soaked with sweat.

Grim wasn't done with teasing him though. „Oh, you liked that?"

His eyes shot daggers at her, but didn't say anything out of concern that she might get even worse. Grim looked at her commander, rapidly breathing and on the verge of losing his mind, and decided to take pity and give him his release. She stroked fast and hard, enjoying his rhythmic grunts. The typical scowl was missing from Sam's face, replaced with something primal but a lot more human.

She didn't take her eyes off his face when he had his release, all wet and warm over both himself and her, and Grim couldn't help but smirk at his numerous uses of the word „fuck", showing just how damn good this felt for him.

He was coming off a high, catching his breath. Grim lifted her hand to her mouth and licked it clean, while he watched absolutely enthralled and for a second she thought hes' gonna take her then and there. Sam looked at the scene before him, coming to his senses. „What a fucking mess."

Grim shot him a devilish look and bent down to lick him clean. She ran her toungue over a particularly bad bruise and heard him whisper curses. She imagined Sam would be ready and willing to go again soon – after all her own need was becoming bothersome.

„Jesus fucking Christ, I needed that."

She fought the urge to laugh abruptly and reached for a cigarette pack on the nearest table. „Hand me one of those?" Grim lit one and placed it between his lips.

„So…you're good?" Sam asked after a moment of not so uncomfortable silence. Grim shrugged in response.

„I'm gonna finish the cigarette and then get over here." Sam exhaled smoke. „Won't let you accuse me of being selfish."

Grim couldn't suppress a smirk. „Promises, promises. Are you even good to move? Not gonna do all the work."

„Still have a tongue, don't I?" Grim didn't let it show, but she slightly shuddered, a warm sensation right where she wanted him.

„I obliged your little control game."

„MY little control game? Sorry, Sam, but from I was sitting, it seemed like you were happily getting off on being tuned like a guitar. One little slap and you can't control yourself, is that all it takes?"

Sam wasn't the man to get embarrassed. „If I couldn't control myself, you'd be face down on the couch right now. Are you gonna come over here or not?"

Grim obliged, growing restless herself. Sam sank into the couch, giving her room to kneel over him. He was staring at her intently, like a man on a mission. Suddenly, he grabbed her and held her over his face, powerful grip digging into her thighs. Grim felt his hot breath over her. He gave her a hint of a smirk.

„Oh, you _were_ enjoying yourself."

„Shut up, Fisher."

Sam grunted in response and seconds later she felt his tongue on her. That set a spark all throughout her body. He pulled her closer to his face. Grim heard him hum in approval. „Fuck, you taste good." He _loved_ doing this. Grim bit her lip and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer and closer, straddling his head with her thighs. „Don't you fucking stop." She whispered. Not necessary – he would rather suffocate than pull away.

She rode his face, getting closer and closer to release, and it didn't take long: he was good, really good. Grim promised herself that she's not gonna say his name, but it ended up rolling off her tongue in between moans and whispers, but Sam was so preoccupied in between her legs that he didn't even notice.

After the final waves were over, she pushed herself off him. Sam's face was a beautiful mess, he was breathing rapidly, his face and beard wet, eyes glassy and hair disheveled from her using it as a handle.

He licked his lips, obviously pleased with himself as she recovered. „Good enough not to kick me out in the rain?"

This time she didn't suppress her smile. „We'll still see about that."

He laughed abruptly and leaned over to crack open the bottle he brought.

Sam stayed the night, but neither of them let themselves show any semblance of sentimentality other than his hand running absentmindedly over her body or her finger tracing the outline of his bicep while they were catching their breaths. They never discussed what exactly was going on between them.

She woke up when the sun was coming up and stretched, feeling the exhaustion from the vigorous sex that went on until the late hours of night. She silently admired how, despite being obviously injured, he didn't let up the pace or show any pain, like he felt he can't give anything less than his best performance. Part of Sam's obsessive nature. He was completely out, bare chest rising and falling rhythmically. He almost looked like a normal person for a moment. Vulnerable. Hell, she could've sworn even heard him snore one time. But as the light of the rising sun fell on him, the bruises and scars gave it away. Big and small, scattered across his chest, arms and as she now knew, thighs and back as well. They gave away plenty of humanity, despite his seemingly machine-like hard body and a perpetual scowl. Now he looked relaxed, tired yet peaceful. And handsome in a different way from his usual masculine Eastwood squint. Grim resisted the urge to run his hand down his bearded cheek. She couldn't allow it – those types of things belonged to people who could let themselves have this level of intimacy.

Grim opened a window, lit a cigarette and enjoyed the way the sunrise distracted her from her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not have been somewhat inspired by Frank Castle's numerous injuries in Netflix's The Punisher. Check it out, you might like it if you're a fan of Splinter Cell.


End file.
